what could have been
by onecupoftae
Summary: there is an envelope in the mail for min yoongi that contains an acceptance letter from the audition he submitted to bighit a few weeks ago. his mom tells him to reject the offer. — yoongi. (part 1/2 of maybe the stars will listen this time around.)


part 1/2 of _maybe the stars will listen this time around_

what could have been

i.

he dances and sings in the chilly air outside at night, long after his parents have fallen asleep because if no one will listen to him in the daytime, then he will rap his heart out to the stars and the moon shining in the infinitely dark sky.

practices for hours and hours until people ask _why are you always tired all the time_ because having to answer that is better than being told that _singing is nothing more than a hobby, yoongi, don't be foolish_. he is just a kid from daegu who has a passion that doesn't relate to medical studies or financial business, just a kid who will inevitably grow out of this phase and start focusing on more important things.

but yoongi loves music. loves the way listening to a song can make him feel, how lyrics of words followed by words strung together by a complete stranger can resonate so much with the deepest thoughts he keeps hidden to himself. loves how easy it is to express the things he can't say in normal, everyday conversation in the form of rhyming verses and quick beats.

in that moment, it's almost too easy to believe that everything and anything is possible.

ii.

it's not the first time that he's been judged for his rapping, but yoongi knows that this is the only time it truly matters.

he's been waiting for this since elementary school, when he would perform at talent shows on the small platform they called a stage in the gymnasium just to get his voice out there, to let people know that this is where he belongs. this is where he wants to be. he's choosing a concert hall with flashing lights and hours of sore throats locked up at the studio along with sleepless nights spent perfecting dance choreographies over an office job and a message to the public that says, _please accept who i am_.

restricted his time out in the court practicing basketball until he hasn't even thought about shooting hoops for months so that he can focus on rapping instead because it means _that much_ to him.

he has things to say, things to confess to a world of close-minded, unwilling citizens who refuse to _believe_ , and as he stands in front of the judges from bighit entertainment, he lets it all go. a kid from daegu who wants to make it big, who understands that it takes more than just a nice voice and a passing hobby to make this kind of career work and he's willing to _try_.

it's his dream. an impossible, perhaps childish dream but it's _his_ and he thinks that after spending so much time singing to the stars, they'll be willing to make his wish come true.

he's giving himself a chance.

iii.

there is an envelope in the mail for min yoongi that contains an acceptance letter from the audition he submitted to bighit a few weeks ago.

his mom tells him to reject the offer.

iv.

late-night dance practices. thoughts in the form of raspy tunes and strained vocals. concerts in korea, japan, china, europe, maybe even america if the international promotions receive a positive response.

it had all been so close. so _close_.

cries himself to sleep on the bad days because what is there in the future for him if not rapping and composing and dancing and letting his voice reach the rapidly fading souls of young kids with naïve dreams like all those other artists did for him when he had sung to the night sky with hopes of _making it_?

yoongi doesn't believe in wishing on stars anymore.

v.

he still sings sometimes. still raps quietly to himself when he can in hopes that his voice will reach someone. still writes lyrics down in a notebook even if the words will never leave the pages and he has no expectation of actually producing the songs anymore.

yoongi works as an accountant, calculating balance sheets for a company he doesn't have any real interest in. he is required to dress professionally in the office and keep the volume of noise to a minimum—which translates into no singing or rapping during work hours.

it's an adult job. it's what it means to grow up.

a single thread of regret weaves its way into his heart and it _thrashes._ pure, pure emotion of wanting more from his life swells inside of him because he still has so much to give, so much to offer. stretches out his arms and won't anyone just accept his feelings? waits, waits, waits for another pair of arms to pull him up but there's no one there to grasp onto his hands and—he slips.

falling. rewind, rewind. turn back time.

(but it's never that easy.)

vi.

it's been years since he's sung. hasn't let the melodies flow out of him for so long that he's not even sure if he would still be able to find the words inside of him now.

the kid from his childhood days in daegu has been repressed, shoved into a corner of his heart because he's _older_ now, all grown up, and it's about time he stopped obsessing over a stupid hobby.

he makes a decent salary and has a stable job. his mom is proud of him—and isn't that enough? shouldn't that be enough?

yoongi thinks back to the wide-eyed dreams of when he was a kid who was able to put on the clothes he wanted, who gained affection because he was just a child with a gummy smile and played basketball for fun and sang religiously to the moon every night. if he closes his eyes, he can still feel the lingering sensation of standing in front of the judges of bighit because that was _his_ moment and people were actually _listening_ to his rap and he doesn't think he'll ever forget a feeling like that.

he wonders if the stars were able to hear him in the end.

on his desk, the notebook he used to fill with lyrics remains untouched, hasn't been opened in so long that the layer of dust on top of it is thick, thick, blocking yoongi from looking back at all the _what ifs_ that could've happened. he lies in bed imagining scenarios of meeting other candidates bighit accepted, creating music with a group of people who shares his passion.

what would it be like to stay up late at night composing and discussing melodies and lyrics with someone who actually _cares_ until it's just right and ready for to be released to the world? what would it be like to stand on a stage, a real stage, with a microphone in hand and have a full concert hall of people cheer him on for following the impossible dream of a kid who didn't know any better? what would it be like to pour all of his heart into something he truly loves, without having to worry about expectations and comments from people who claim that _he can't_?

he'll never know.

so in his spare time, yoongi writes. not of songs but of stories, novels that may never be published, piled up in a stack in the corner of his room. he writes about a boy named suga who has supportive parents, urging him to accept his offer to a boy group because _you can do it_ and this time it's not a lie. he writes about suga's trainee days, the hardships suga faces and eventually overcomes because in the end, it'll all be worth it to have the result of hard work and dedication within reach.

he writes about what it would've been like to write _lyrics_ instead of _books_.

vii.

yoongi is an accountant and a part-time author who spends his days writing about what could have been.

* * *

 **a/n:** trying out this lapslock thing. i like it more than i expected to. it's very freeing.

also can i just say that i'm very, very glad that the things in this fanfic didn't actually happen irl because can you imagine bts without yoongi?


End file.
